


Interlude

by EKthered



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, No Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:04:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EKthered/pseuds/EKthered
Summary: Something happened that he couldn't remember. Disorienting. But he wasn't alone.





	

                It’s dark when he wakes.

                Blinking rapidly, the flickering of firelight blooms in his vison. He realizes he’s not wearing his glasses. A pause – taking bodily inventory. Pain in the leg. Slight pain in the shoulder. Dulled – probably the swimming effect of a potion, recently.

                The sound of the ocean, waves rocking against the earth with perfect time. It almost lulls him right back down to darkness, but –

                Noctis.

                A groan bubbles its way up his chest, unbidden but unstoppable. He struggles – struggles to lift himself, struggles to remember what happened.

                He can’t. He panics.

                The glossy tin of voices, distorted and strange rise above him. Hands pressing down on him, but he fights –

                “I’m here,” the rasp timber of the prince assures him, close, near his ear.

                Thank the gods. He deflates, eyes closing, trying to recover the precious energy he’d just used. He didn’t have much – there was a weight on him, hot and heavy and constant.

                “Another antidote?” the high chirp of Prompto sways in his ears.

                “Not yet, it’s too soon,” the grumbling thunder of Gladiolus denies.

                He feels sick.

                Noctis knows – has him by the chest as his stomach and lungs and everything else in him decides to purge the contents of his person. Hands rubbing his spine, bracing his shoulders.

                Acidic. Unpleasant.

                His center of gravity precariously unstable, he feels the worst is over and tips himself backward a little. His throat is raw and uncomfortable, sore from the work. He’s relieved to be pulled away from whatever mess is left and rearranged.  Part of him knows, were he more sobered he would find the whole thing embarrassing. But when his back comes to rest on the warm weight of another he feels only relief, no longer responsible for holding his own self upright, a gift.

                “Whahappened?” he inquired, hearing his voice slur without his consent.

                “Bad fight,” Prompto intones from everywhere and nowhere. “You’ll be ok, Iggy.”

                He watches Gladio and Prompto return to the fire, arguing over something about tea, and the way he likes it. He deducts it’s Noctis holding him upright, arms locked around his waist, possessive.

                Must have been bad, then. Pity he didn’t remember anything. Hoped it was worth it.

                “M’fine,” the combined word escapes him, in no way shape or form the articulation he planned. A hand rises from his stomach and rests cool and wonderful against his brow. He tilts his head back at the feel of it, skull coming to rest against a shoulder and throat.

                “Not yet,” Noct rumbles from behind.

                Ignis had already forgotten the conversation, the weight of his eyelids too much to fight, the rhythmic heartbeat on his spine and crash of waves returning him to the darkness.


End file.
